


cravings

by saltstuck



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is an asshole, Bisexual Steve Harrington, First Kiss, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M, One Shot, Post-Stranger Things 2, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstuck/pseuds/saltstuck
Summary: “I bet you can’t go a week without smoking,” she’d said.“Bet you a month of rides to the arcade that you lose,” she’d said.and Billy, like a fucking idiot, had scoffed, said, “A month of zero rides when I win or no deal.”Yeah, real smart, Hargrove. Real smart.Hasn’t even been a full day and he’s ready to throw in the fucking towel. Fuck this bet, fuck his pride, and fuck Maxine.God, he wants a fucking cigarette.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 25
Kudos: 362





	cravings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> prompt fill for my lovely friend @bambixxblue on tumblr! Thank you for being so patient and for being such a damn good writing buddy and for all your help!

19 hours and 54 minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since Billy has had a cigarette.

19 hours and 54 minutes of torture and he’s ready to break something, or _someone_. Preferably _Maxine_ , if he had the choice, but he’d take anyone at this point just to have something to do with his damn hands, to have a way to release the tension, to get rid of the god awful cravings crawling under his skin, begging him for a dose of fucking nicotine.

He thought it was a good idea to agree to a bet with a fucking 13 year old. Yeah, the promise of a month of no rides? The whole fucking day to himself instead of being chauffeur to his annoying step sister? Yeah, that sounded real nice to him yesterday.

Yesterday, he was a goddamn idiot.

"You have an addiction," she'd said.

"I bet you can't go a week without smoking," she'd said. 

“Bet you a month of rides to the arcade that you lose,” she’d said. 

and Billy, like a fucking idiot, had scoffed, said, “A month of _zero_ rides when _I_ win or no deal.”

Yeah, real smart, Hargrove. _Real smart_.

Hasn’t even been a full day and he’s ready to throw in the fucking towel. Fuck this bet, fuck his pride, and fuck _Maxine._

God, he wants a fucking cigarette.

He can’t even cheat. The little shit took his fucking smokes and he doesn’t have the cash to buy more, needs that shit for gas, and it’s not like he would be able to hide the smell if he did manage to find one anyway. She’d know it the minute she got into the car that he’d fucking caved and yeah, he would rather die than see that smug look of victory on her face. No fucking thank you.

So now he’s stuck here, standing outside the fucking arcade, glaring at Max through the window while he wait for her to finish her stupid hangout session with her dumbass friends.

It hasn’t even been 10 minutes since she went in after giving him that annoying smirk and a taunting reminder of “no smoking!”, not like he fucking needed it, and he’s already feeling pulled apart at the seams and bored out of his fucking mind. Usually he’d his waste time chain smoking in his fucking car but that’s not an option. He could drive around or go home but being in the Camaro with out a cigarette feels like a sin against humanity and there’s no way he’s going to risk a confrontation with Neil when he’s feeling like this. He’s not sure he’d be able to bite his tongue hard enough to avoid setting off the trip wire that is Neil Hargrove. Not that he can manage to do it any better on a good day. Definitely not right now.

So all he can do is park his nicotine deprived ass on the hood of his car and plan all the ways he’s going to make Max pay for this hellish situation she talked him into while he endures the consequences of his useless pride.

The rumble of a car pulling up next to him interrupts his brooding but he doesn’t stop his glaring to check who it is, knows it’s Steve in his fancy ass BMW from the sound of its low purr and some lame Wham! track blasting from the windows.

And sure enough, a door slams and the Henderson kid darts past him, eyeing Billy like he might get bit if he comes too close before shouting an obnoxious high-pitched, “Bye Steve!” then disappears inside.

Billy snorts. Good instincts, that one. 

He waits for the sound of the beemer backing out, for that godawful song to fade away, but it doesn’t come, instead,

“Why aren’t you in your car?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Of all the days Steve decides to be nosy, he picks this one.

“Mind your own fucking business, Harrington,” Billy growls without a glance. He is _not_ at full patience capacity to deal with King Steve right now, goddamn it.

Surprisingly, all Steve replies with is an easy, unbothered, “Whatever, man.” And that’s that.

Like it’s that simple.

Whatever.

Either way, Billy is still waiting for him to leave, but nope, that same song is still playing and still annoying as hell and still very much not far, far away.

“Will you at least stop fidgeting? You’re making me anxious just watching you.”

Billy rounds on him, fists clenched and teeth bared like the wild dog Steve’s little twerp is so inclined to believe he is, ready to tell him to shut that damn music off and go the fuck away, but he freezes instead.

Stares wide eye at Steve in all his Kingly glory, lounging in the driver seat, arm slung out the open window, those damn sunglasses pushed up into his hair, and a fucking cigarette tucked behind his ear.

Billy would be embarrassed by how quickly he deflates but he can’t find the energy to care, too zeroed in on that glorious slice of heaven nestled between brown hair and pale skin, so close he can almost taste it.

He licks his lips. Changes tactics quick enough to give himself whiplash.

“Want to go to the Quarry?”

Steve blinks. “Uh.” 

“We got a couple hours to kill,” Billy says, as casual as possible, like he’s not _using_ him. “You wanna wait in this fucking parking lot or get the fuck out of here?” 

“Uh,” he says again, eyes shifting like he can’t believe Billy wants to actually hang out with him, which, _yeah_ , he wouldn’t be offering like this if he didn’t get something out of it. 

Billy waits him out, tries not to look like a dog begging for a scrap of meat, until finally, Steve bobs his head, says, “Alright, okay. Meet you there.” 

Too fucking easy. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his grin. 

****

He couldn’t risk the extra gas it would take to beat Steve to the Quarry so he finds him waiting, leaning up with his legs crossed against the side of his car, when he pulls up beside him. Billy cuts the engine and hopes he doesn’t look too eager when he throws his door open and gets out.

“Hey,” he says as he crosses around the front of his car.

Steve nods his head in greeting, that fucking cigarette balanced between his lips.

Billy has to stop himself from snatching it right then and there, grips his Zippo tighter in his hand, the metal warm from clutching it the whole ride here, and stares with poorly concealed longing instead.

Steve notices him staring. “You out?”

Oh, Steve, this is almost too easy.

Billy sucks at his teeth. “Yeah.” _Something like that_.

“Here,” Steve says, flips the cigarette in his fingers and offers it to him filter first. 

Fuck yes.

Here it is. His chance. No one’s out here, no one here to catch him, just stupid, naive Harrington and his probably full pack of cigs. No way has this rich boy perfected the art of rationing his vices the way Billy has. No way a stray square would put a dent in his wallet, probably wouldn’t even notice it missing.

And now he’s just _offering_ it.

Billy reaches out, blood vibrating with the promise of nicotine, practically _drooling_ for it. 

“Wait a second--” Steve pulls it back at the last moment. Billy literally gasps as it slips out of his fingers. “Didn’t Max say-- Aren’t you supposed to be quitting?” 

_Fucking_ Maxine. 

” _No_.”

“Pretty sure you are.” Steve purses his lips, has his hands on his hips like some goddamn _housewife_. “So, _that’s_ why you wanted to come here.”

“C’mon, just give me _one_ \--”

“No way.”

Billy hisses through his teeth in frustration. Glares daggers at Steve’s stupid fucking face. 

Steve smirks. 

He’s gunna kill both of them. 

“I know what you need,” Steve says, putting the cigarette back in his pack, big dumb doe eyes twinkling, “you need a _distraction_. Something to get your mind off of it.”

Billy scoffs. There IS no distraction from the endless cravings. There is only wanting a smoke or having a smoke. But if Steve thinks he’s got some sort of cure, he might as well hear it.

“Yeah? What would you suggest?”

The corners of his lips quirk up. “I’ve got just the thing.”

And isn’t that ominous. 

Steve is all legs as he strides around to the passenger side of his car, popping open the door. Billy can’t imagine what the hell Steve has in his glove compartment that can help. All he hears is the shuffling of papers and the scratch of plastic cases grinding against each other. 

“Better not be some stupid meditation tape.”

“Pfft, no way, man,” comes the muffled reply.

“And it better not the fucking patch, man, or I’m gunna punch you.”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

Billy works his jaw. Snaps his zippo open, closed, open, closed. “C’mon, Harrington, I don’t got all day.”

“Hold on, it’s in here somewhere...”

““Is it—“

“No.”

“But—“

“No, _Jesus_. Have some patience, man.”

“I'd _have some_ if I had a fucking _smoke_ , asshole,” He growls, snaps his zippo closed again, “but i _can’t.”_

Steve pops back up.

“Oh, right,” he says and has the fucking audacity to look sheepish about it.

“Yeah, _oh._ So just whatever you want to ‘distract me with’, you better do it now or I’m—“

Whatever threat he was about to invoke dies in his throat as Steve brandishes his ‘distraction’ like a prize above his head. And a prize it is. Even without the rich, earthy smell, Billy would know what that plump stick between his fingers is in a heartbeat. It’s a fucking joint.

He groans, delighted. “Harrington, fuck _yes_. Now you’re speaking my _language_.”

Steve laughs and heads back to the front of the car but Billy snatches the joint out of his hands as he passes. He smirks at Steve’s surprised blink, says, “c’mon, get in,” and climbs into the passenger side without waiting for an answer. 

“Why _my_ car? _”_ Steve grumbles when he gets in. 

“You think _Maxine_ knows the difference between weed and tobacco? I don’t think so,” Billy says around the joint perched between his lips, already lighting up. He sucks in a mouthful and holds it, head falling back against the headrest.

“Yeah, well—“

“Harrington,” Billy exhales a cloud of thick smoke and glances at him, holds the joint out, “are you gunna keep complaining or are you gunna smoke this with me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

****

“How do you feel?” Steve asks after a while of passing back and forth in silence.

Billy thought maybe it’d be awkward, they haven’t ever done this, definitely not alone in Steve’s car, but it’s surprisingly relaxed. Getting stoned together like it’s normal.

And Billy? He’s feeling it, loose and buzzing like only a good high can give him. And it’s good weed, hell, might be the best he’s had since California. Figures. He should have known that King Steve would have high standards.

“Fuckin’ high as _shit,”_ Billy says, sinking deeper into his seat.

“Is it working? With the cravings?” 

Steve kills the last of the blunt and puts it out in the ash tray. The pack of reds are propped up next to it. His fingers twitch.

“Nope. Definitely still want a fucking cig,” Billy nods towards the pack, “Light one up.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving you one, dude.”

“I’m not _asking_ for one. I just want to smell it.”

Steve raises a brow but doesn’t comment. He reaches for them and pops one in his mouth but fumbles with his lighter. It slips between his fingers and disappears between the seats with a clatter. 

“Shit,” he mutters and Billy’s too impatient, still too keyed up, has his zippo hovering in front of Steve’s face in a second and lights it with a _snick._

They make eye contact over the flame. The cigarette bobs as Steve swallows. Billy smirks, tips his head. “Go on.”

Carefully, he tilts it toward the flame. His cheeks hollow out as he takes a drag, brow furrowing.

Billy pockets his lighter and has the fleeting thought that maybe he should back up, return to his side of the car, but the scent of burning tobacco hits him and he chases the smell, eyelids fluttering. “Fuck.”

“That good, huh?”

Billy opens his eyes at Harrington’s amused snort and looks at him. Smoke curls along the o of his lips, crawls up the side of his nose, the ember at the end crackles and glows hot as he takes another drag. 

Like a moth drawn to flame, Billy leans closer. “You have no idea.”

Everything blurs out of focus as the world narrows down to the image of Steve and that damn cigarette in his mouth. He _wants_. 

“Again. Slower,” he commands and he can feel Steve’s eyes boring into him but he doesn’t look, _can’t_ , too caught up by the view of the filter 

Steve takes another inhale, drags it out all dramatic, and Billy doesn’t think, just moves, stills him with a firm hand at his chin. “Hold it.”

Steve tenses in his grip and Billy thinks maybe he’s gone too far, that he’s crossed a line, but Steve listens, chest puffing up as he stalls his breath.

Billy licks his lips. “Open your mouth.”

Guided by Billy’s hand, Steve’s jaw gently falls open. There’s no airflow in here with the windows drawn up. The smoke settles in a cloud on his tongue.

God, he _wants..._ Just a little sip. Billy moves closer. The tip of his nose brushes Steve’s top lip. He inhales.

It stings his nostrils and it’s not a lot, not like a real pull from a cigarette would be, but it’s enough. He can’t stop the groan that rumbles from his chest.

And shit, he must really be craving it because the buzz hits him quick, makes his head go all light and dizzy. He focuses on Steve in front of him like an anchor, vision blurred at the edges, and rides the wave of nicotine. His body vibrates from the mix of chemicals and fuck, it feels so fucking _good._

Jesus, Steve has a pretty mouth, he thinks absently, floating in sensation.

It’sstill open, pink lush lips stretched around white teeth. 

Entranced, Billy presses his thumb into the meat of his bottom lip, drags it down. Saliva pools in a river along his gums. Steve tries to swallow and Billy watches, fascinated, as Steve’s throat constricts. He releases him so he can swallow properly but doesn’t let go of his hold on his chin.

And Steve was right, Billy did need a distraction. The distraction is that tongue tucked behind teeth, those full lips, that mouth _begging_ to be kissed.

“That’s cheating.” 

He’s hypnotized by the way Steve’s lips move, the press of his chin against his finger tips, electric where their skin meet, and Billy’s so lost in the sight that he doesn’t register that he’s said anything until his warm exhale ghosts over Billy’s face.

Billy freezes. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. 

There’s a sliver of space between their lips. 

Fuck.

It takes him a long moment to pull his eyes away, unsure of what he’s going to find there when he looks. Hesitantly, he flicks his gaze up. Meets brown eyes gone _dark_ , swallowed up by pupil and blown wide. 

He expected anger or disgust or _something_ but all he sees is surprise and.. hunger?

 _No,_ no way. He should back up, sit back down, should _leave_ but--

“Is it?” Billy breathes, unable to stop himself. 

Steve doesn’t answer, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do fucking anything, just keeps drilling those big brown eyes straight through him and Billy feels like he’s suffocating, the air charged with tension, doesn’t know what the fuck Steve is thinking, doesn’t know what to _do_. 

“Are you gunna tell on me?”

It hovers, suspended in space between them, a question in curling smoke.

And Billy means it to sound teasing, or accusing, or something covered in thorns, but it comes out all wrong— too soft, too breathless, too honest and he wonders if Steve realizes that he’s just shown his hand. 

Frantic, he slips his eyes shut and tells himself that it’s fine, he can talk his way out of this. He can blame his behavior on the weed, on his high, or on the cravings. He tells himself not to panic, not to flee, not to fight or— 

It doesn’t matter.

Billy gets his answer. It’s a flutter of lashes on cheek, a nose nudging his.

Steve whispers, “no,” and Billy swallows it, closes the distance to meet slick skin and warm breath, dives in gasping.

And yeah, he’ll blame his desperation on the weed and the buzz and the heat, he’ll blame it on the bet and the nicotine. He’ll blame it all on that instead of his craving for a pretty boy with pretty eyes and a pretty face and a kiss he’s suddenly allowed to take.

Billy sinks into him in like a man dying for it and Steve gives him his drug, fills his mouth full with it, buries it deep between moans and— ah, there are those teeth, fuck, that _tongue_.

A distraction indeed, fuck. He’s not going to be able to think of any-fucking- thing else but this pretty boy with his pretty fucking mouth.

He needs more, more skin, more body, more heat. He craves it.

Billy crowds closer, cages him in against the door. It’s desperate, all palms pressing in, fingers pulling at denim and cotton, grasping over jaw, shoulders, chest. Steve’s hands find his hair, his neck, and he’s searching too, matching Billy beat for beat.

Why the fuck did he ever start a fight of fists when they could have been competing like this instead?

Forget nicotine, forget drugs, forget everything else but Steve, Steve, Steve.

It’s an inferno, wild, roaring. it’s _addicting_ , it’s—

Gone.

Steve tears his mouth free and jerks back with a gasp, and before Billy can react, sharp pain explodes across his cheek bone. 

He lurches back with a strangled yelp, raising a hand to where Steve elbowed him. Tears spring to his eyes and he blinks rapidly before they can fall. “What the _fuck_ , Harrington?”

“Sorry, shit—“

Steve is squirming, hips lifted as he digs around underneath him. He hisses through his teeth when he finds what he’s looking for, lifts the half burned cigarette into the air and plops back down. “Ow.”

Billy glares at him as he puts the cigarette out. He pulls his hand away from his face with a wince, mutters, “You fucking elbowed me, you dick.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, “probably should have put that out first.”

Both panting, they stare at each other from opposite ends of the car.

Steve looks like he’s been pulled apart, hair wild, face flushed and lips bruised red. Because of Billy, from Billy’s mouth, from Billy’s hands.

He swallows. Looks away.

“Look, I’m not—“ He falters. For as many excuses as he’s come up with, none of them manage to come out, stuck somewhere in the knot of panic buried in his chest.

“I won’t tell her.”

Billy’s gaze snaps back.

Steve pauses, chewing at his lip. 

“Your, uh,” he clears his throat, eyes flicking from Billy to the seat and up again, “secret’s safe with me.” 

The distress signals go quiet at his words. The craving comes back full force, begging him to give in, to indulge, turn taste into addiction.

Billy couldn’t make it one full day without nicotine but resisting this vice? He won’t survive another second.

“Fuck it,” he says, and he kisses Steve again.

**Author's Note:**

> First time contributing to Ao3 and of course it's harringrove. Love these boys. 
> 
> i'd love to hear your thoughts and come say hi on [tumblr!](http://saltstuck.tumblr.com)


End file.
